


As The Morning Cries

by anniespinkhouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniespinkhouse/pseuds/anniespinkhouse
Summary: S12, after 'First Blood'. With Sam displaying obvious signs of trauma around water Dean decides to hunt a morgen without him.When he's trapped alone in the dark again his only hope of escape from the faery realm is his faith in Sam.Written for the wincest-reverse bang to a gorgeous prompt by Loracine - http://loracine.livejournal.com/33095.html





	As The Morning Cries

**Author's Note:**

> The boys and their world are not mine and they aren't getting in my van for candy any time soon.
> 
> Even if you don't read the fic please, please check out the art by loracine. I have been a terrible, distracted writer and I am grateful for her talent and wonderfully open ended prompt as well as her unending patience with me. 
> 
> Many thanks to the also incredibly patient arliss for the beta
> 
> And to Amber for herding cats to the finish line.

 

 

Dean stripped off flannel and the tee beneath it. His belt buckle rattled as he kicked his tatty jeans over bare toes, to rest on his shoes. The job was simple right? Dive in, grab the gold, hightail it back to the motel room and watch hentai until midnight. Then, iron rounds, a pile of salt, and the flick of a lighter - yippee kai ay mother fucker, and Sam, well Sam need never worry. 

A pale blue dawn sky was dotted with sheep-fluffy clouds and a flock of birds wheeled and cawed. Dean breathed dewy air and focused his attention on his task.

 Spray drifted across from a waterfall that tripped and rushed over a steep incline, cutting into the contours of a quiet valley. Drops pattered over moss-wet rocks where it met the deep pool which nipped cold at Dean’s toes. The fall bubbled and churned its surface, forming mesmerizing ripples - a never ending series of circles which mottled the water. Dean stared into it, through the reflection of scudding clouds, noting underwater ledges and bright streaks of quick fish. It felt somehow alien and timeless and the effect was dizzying. He breathed out, slow and steady, kept watching. Colors merged; sky blue and the greys of the rocks swirled with the pool’s natural green hue and he saw it at last, a flash of gold from the deep, quickly broken into a thousand tiny sparkles by the force of the waterfall. 

The pool now mimicked the color of Sam’s eyes and the thought slammed into his heart, skewed his rhythm for a beat. He hated the way Sam looked at him when he lied. Dean steadied himself, he hadn’t lied, he had nothing to be guilty about. This was a simple job. Sam had taken a supply run for herbs and creepy bones and Dean had left a note back at the bunker. He would be home and dry before Sam. So why did it feel like a lie? 

Times like this it was best to ditch personal thoughts and concentrate on the case. Dean slapped his arms around his chest, limbering up to dive, and mist settled, like emerald teardrops over the dark ink of his tattoo. He ran his hand over his chest, shook the drops from his fingers. 

 _He remembered shutting off the shower and grabbing a towel - wrapped it around his brother’s shoulders, using the edges to swipe coconut scented lather from the new tattoo on his chest. Probably the expensive shit_ _that Sam_ _thought he kept hidden from his brother. With Sam’s skin shower-pink and damp, Dean had held him close, carded his fingers through his dripping hair and prayed to a god he knew was gone. “God! Sammy? Sam?”_  

 _“Dean?” Droplets scattered on Dean’s face as Sam looked around the shower room in confusion. “You’re wet,” he added, running his hand over the curve of Dean’s ass, where denim clung tight._  

_“You checked out there for a while, kiddo. Mostly used all our hot water with that fancy shampoo of yours.”_

_Sam frowned, bit his lip and then squared a little, “You love it. It smells good. We should get these wet clothes off you.” He squeezed Dean’s ass, a deliberate and flirty distraction._  

 _“Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asked him._  

 _Sam leaned close to his ear. “I’d rather be doing it,” he whispered._  

 _“You know what I mean,” Dean protested weakly._  

 _“You know what_ ** _I mean_** _,” Sam repeated back to him, discarding his towel with a shameless growl._  

Shower sex. It’s not complicated with Sam. Trauma and emotions; they’re more difficult and if Sam says he’s dealing then it’s enough for Dean.

 

 

 Something plopped into the water among weeds at the edge of the pool and Dean grasped the handle of his iron knife alert for danger but he saw nothing. It was probably a frog. The thing he was hunting was patient. Like the men who had come to fish in this pool it laid its bait, waited for the victim to take it, gave them some slack. The morgen struck when they slept in their beds, happy after their catch. Dean shivered and it was nothing to do with the weather. Better get on with it then. 

He dived with his eye on the golden prize, cut into the water with barely a splash. They had loved John’s swimming lessons back when they were children, begged to swim and play in every small waterhole and dank motel pool and their father had indulged them. It had soured for Dean when he was twelve and he had watched a kelpie snatch a hunter into the muddy waters of a creek. The hunter had never resurfaced. Sammy hadn’t understood why his brother had dragged him away from every creek and pond and hidden his swimming shorts. He had pummeled Dean and accused him of being a killjoy “just like dad,” and Dean had taken it all rather than destroy his little brother’s innocence. With every new waterhole and crappy motel pool Dean had died a little more inside. 

The slap of the water on his head was shocking. Water fizzed and bubbled around him, cold and noisy in his ears. He opened his eyes, let the streamlined dive carry him down until he was totally submerged then struck out with steady strokes to retrieve the gold goblet tantalizing him from a rocky ledge near the bottom of the pool. 

Bubbles died away, sound lengthened and muffled and light filtered through thinly. The water was clear blue here and he could make out jewels set in the stem of the goblet.  The goblet had moved, Dean thought, or the ledge was deeper than it seemed from above. Steady strokes. He was a good swimmer. He could hold his breath longer than most. 

After a time he stilled his arms and legs. Took stock. _Silence_ . How long had he been underwater? It was supposed to be simple yet his lungs ached and the goblet remained out of reach. All around him was blue, no fish, no green weed or rock to guide him. He should have brought a diver’s watch. _Sam would have thought of tha_ t. He should swim back and rethink the case. He struck out again, tired muscles pushing him through the blue but getting him nowhere. Was he swimming up or down? It was _so blue._ What would Sam do? He followed the bubbles of air escaping from struggling lungs, pushing through his panic, slipping through water without a sign of the surface. _He shouldn’t have lied to Sam._  

A ledge appeared above him. Dean kicked his legs and reached out his hands, pulled up through water and screeching pain and retrieved the goblet that rested there. He dropped his knife and it cartwheeled elegantly out of reach. There was no breath to retrieve it so he let it go, kept swimming. The fat sound of the waterfall pattering into the pool spurred him on, through weed with water bubbling against his skin, until he broke surface gasping and vomiting, swallowing more water and flailing to keep his head in sweet air with his grasp on the goblet unbroken. 

Dean reached the water’s edge, clambered onto the softest meadow grass and lay trembling in bright sunshine. A sulphur-yellow butterfly settled on his hand and he flicked it away. The waterfall sounded gentler now, a tuneful tinkle over bare rocks. He coughed out a laugh, “See, I made it, Sammy,” and closed his eyes, to rest, just for a moment.

 “Well, hello there handsome!” 

Dean woke, eyes wide in horror. His boxer briefs would hide nothing in his current, soaked state. “I, er...my clothes…” 

“Skinny dipping. We all do it.” A slim young woman smiled down upon him from her perch in the branch of a lonely tree. The sun formed a halo around her long, dark hair as she brushed long fingers through it. 

Never one to miss an opportunity, Dean tipped his head and gave her a blazing smile, “Well then, we should try it together some time.” 

“Ah, Dean, Dean, Dean. So ready to betray your mate, yet I will not take what is Oberon’s.” She dismounted her branch, to the soft grass and shade below it. Brown hair was streaked with green, like weed and her clothes hugged close to a lithe body in sparkling shades of aquamarine and blue. 

Dean scuttled back from her approach, looked around for a familiar landmark, but saw none. The sky was too blue, the colors too bright and the grass too soft. He suddenly knew who she was, where he was. “You!” he spat the word with disgust. “This is wrong. You’re supposed to wait until night. You can’t take me yet.” 

The morgen smiled, showing mother-of-pearl teeth, “I did not take you Dean Winchester. You are one of us. You chose to return and why would I not take advantage of that? Oberon will reward me richly for his prize.”    

“You tricked me!” 

“There was no trickery. You came to kill me. At the very least you stole from me.” She pointed to the shining goblet in his grasp with his iron knife, now wrapped in delicate fabric, in her hand 

“You were stealing fishermen from the village!” Dean said, as he continued to inch his way backwards. When cool water lapped at him once more he raised his arm and pitched the goblet at her as hard as he could throw, “Here, have it,” he shouted as he plunged back into the pool, took a deep breath and swam down, pushing his aching muscles for speed. 

He hit the bottom in moments. Gravel scattered and weed parted as he scrabbled to find a way through the shallow depths and all the time he could hear the morgen laughing, tuneful and amused. There was no way out. 

Dean freakin’ _hated_ fairies. He stood up in the pool, head above the water, panting for air and cursing the morgen. 

She spoke sweetly and her words seemed to echo in the waterfall. “There is a way to return to that world but it is not through the water. You should come out, let the sun dry you and put on your clothes. We can feast on sweetmeats and drink nectar. Birds will sing a love song of our King.” 

He glared at her and spat water, “I’m not singing any love song for your dick king and I ain’t hungry for any of that… that enchanted meat stuff.” 

She shrugged her shoulders and shook her hair. “Have it your way, Dean Winchester.”

“What way? I’m going to kill you and your dick king.” 

A large, iridescent-blue dragonfly buzzed around his face and he swatted it away. Two, three more joined it, a faint high pitched chant building as others came, “How rude, how rude, how rude!” 

“So sue me!” He lunged after the nearest to swat it. He didn’t get far, weed caught around his ankle, tightened and pulled him back. “Bitch!” 

“That’s no way to speak to the King’s new favorite. My name is Lana and in time you will thank me. You belong here, with us.” 

Dean laughed, dangerous and sarcastic, “I will get out of here and then your name is Dead.” 

The swarm of dragonflies thickened and hissed at him.

Lana approached him, a step beyond his reach, but he could see the twisted, dripping weed that wound through her hair and smell her fish-breath. “You will tell me that your brother will come for you. You will tell me that the King cannot take you while you are joined to another by your heart. You will tell me that you are too old for Oberon. Yet, I see your fears and you know your brother will not come. He is your soulmate, that is true, but Sam will not come and your soul bond will die with your faith. Then you will be ready. The leprechaun was impatient, he did not wait.” 

He smirked at her, shrugged again, “I’m still too old. I ain’t Oberon’s type.” 

She smiled serenely and waved a hand over the pool of water. It stilled, with a mirror-glass finish and he looked down upon his own face, free of laughter lines and with hair soft and sun-lightened. “You are young again here, and my King lusts for you. You will serve him for a time and there will be a home and riches when he discards you. You can be happy.” 

“Without Sam? I don’t think so.” 

“You will be free of that noose.” She dived into the pool with barely a ripple, disappeared into magical depths leaving him raging and fighting against the weed that slithered wetly over his skin to bind his hands and legs while the swarm of dragonflies still chided him. “Rude! Rude! Rude!”

 _Any time now, Sam. You can come rescue me any time now and I won’t ever threaten to cut your stupid soft hair again. Or for at least a few weeks. How long was I out? Time passes differently here, is it a day in the real world yet? How long does it take Sam to buy a few herbs and bones from a guy in Fredricksburg anyway?_  

He yawned, how could he be so tired when he was wet, cold and trapped in weedy slime? 

*** 

“Oh my! It’s not decent. It isn’t my job to dress you. You lying there, with nothing to do. It isn’t a gnome’s job to feed you.” 

He opened his eyes to a small fae, no more than three foot tall with round belly who kicked Dean’s clothes to him on the toe of shiny red shoes which tinkled like bells.  A dish of soggy cereal clanged down on the floor beside him. “I don’t know who she thinks she is these days. I serve Lana. I don’t serve you.” 

Dean stretched and yawned. He had slept again, how long had it been? He lay on blankets in some sort of metal cage within a cave where a fire burned for both light and warmth. “Apparently, you do…” he pointed at his dish “...serve me, if she wishes it. You could let me go. It would serve the crazy nymph right, right?”  

The gnome muttered under his breath as he scuttled away, “No, no, no, no, no. Be done with your trickery. I am not yours to obey, big, ugly human.”

Dean looked at his clothes again, remembered where he had left them. “Hey. Where is Lana? These were on the other side. Where’s Sam?”

But the gnome was gone, away into dark shadows and there was only the crackle, flicker and smell of the fire.

“Sammy! Sam! Lana! Goddamn!” The words echoed. He put his clothes on, checked his pockets. They were empty but for a tissue and rag. His cellphone and picklock gone.

 _Alone_ . Wood popped. Sam would come. He always did. _Except when he didn’t._ Vampires and leviathans danced in shadows on the walls. Dean imagined soldiers pacing beyond those walls, remembered recent months of excruciating _nothing_ without his brother. What had Lana told him? _“Sam will not come and your soul bond will die with your faith.”_ He had to stay positive. Maybe Sam was already there. _Maybe he was in another cage, separated, suffering._ NO! Goddamnit! He wouldn’t entertain the thought, not again, never again. He pushed down another nagging doubt, Sammy _can’t_ come _._

He was alone. He searched the cage for weaknesses, anything he could use as a tool but he knew it was enchanted. The food would be too. No point in eating it. He kicked the bowl over and the cereal spilled over the floor. Drawing symbols with it was a distraction. Sam always encouraged him to practise. Sam was right of course.  

“A hex to protect from floods and storms - nice.” Lana appeared outside Dean’s cage without warning. “Doesn’t work with me.” 

He pretended to ignore her but he had craved her presence - any presence. There was no daylight and six meals could only give him an estimate of time passed. Loneliness gave way to imagination and his mind had Hell and Purgatory and Stanford to fuel his fears. Lana was real. Evil, but real.

“You didn’t eat your food. Such a big lad, you need to keep your strength for Oberon.” 

“I’d rather die.” 

“Not going to happen. Like Sam coming to the rescue. She looked back at the sigil, gave a cunning smile and added slyly,” Your brother could use a sigil like that, don’t you think?” 

 _How did she know about Sam?_  

“He’ll come and when he does you’ll be crying a river,” Dean sneered at her.

 “You don’t believe your own words, Dean Winchester.”

“Are you just going to leave me here? I need to wash and shave.” 

Lana tutted, “You really don’t.”   

He ran his hand over the babysoft skin of his jaw and grunted, “Freakin’ fae.”

She stared once more at the sigil in the mess of the cage floor, “Grammond! Grammond! Where is that damned gnome?” 

“Well, I dunno, maybe if you were nicer to him…” 

Bells tinkled in a dark corner,  “M’lady.” the gnome hurried to the morgen and bowed. 

“Clean the mess up and when it’s done take the bowl and damp the fire. Our guest would like some time alone, to think.” 

“But that is my fire too, m’lady,” Grammond whined. 

“Shhttt!” The morgen’s eyes blazed angrily and droplets flew from her hair, sizzling in the fire. 

Grammond gave a scraping bow, “For how long m’lady?”

“That is for me to decide.” 

“Indeed, m’lady.”

  Weed and slime slithered behind Lana as she left them.

“Hey! Hey bitch!” Dean yelled, but she didn’t turn back. This couldn’t be happening again. _A day. a week._ Whatever she decided it was mere hours in the real world. Sammy would take time to contact mom, wait on her and they would come but would it be soon enough? If mom didn’t reply, _and what was with that shit anyway_ \- could Sam come to him? 

“See how easily your faith fades in your bond, Dean Winchester.” Lana’s voice traveled in on cold air. 

 _Sam would contact mom and they would come for Dean. Suck that you crone!_ But Lana was gone. 

Grammond mumbled as he went about his tasks and his shoes tinkled angrily. “Do this, do that. Sleep in the cold. For what? For a dumbass human to amuse Oberon. For a bluer pool and brighter stones. How long will it even last? A week? Two? Do I get gold? Even a coin? I get nothing but a saved favor and a chance for a maid at the maypole dances but the maids all want the hand of Oberon’s rejects.”

“Maybe they’re taller than you, Grammond. The ladies like a tall man,” mused Dean and was rewarded with a painful tinkling kick on his shin. 

“M’Lady says it’s how you like them too.”

Dean grinned, thought of Sam, of long legs, broad shoulders and tip-tilted eyes. Thought of his powerful arms pushing him up against the cold wall of the bunker corridor and his generous lips crushing his own, kissing him breathless. “Yeah, well she ain’t wrong about that.” 

“Pity for you then,” Grammond sneered, “That Oberon will have you adore his tiny waist and pixie face.” 

“Pity for you that you won’t. Jealousy doesn’t suit you Grammond.” 

“Not jealous. Oberon isn’t my type.” 

“No, but Lana is,” Dean observed.

Grammond blushed and looked away.

“If I wasn’t here, maybe she would notice you. You should let me out of here.”

Bright gnome eyes blinked as he considered Dean. “Big, ugly human makes me look fine by his side. Goodbye. Enjoy the dark.” He lifted a pail of water and threw it over the fire. With a hiss and the smell of damp ash Dean was plunged into silence. There was a watery-blue glow to the blackness he was now engulfed in but he could barely make out his own hands in front of his face.

“Grammond! Grammond! I know you’re there. You’re not going anywhere.My bucket is going to have to be emptied Grammond.” There was no answer. Not a chime of a bell or chink of light. “Great.” 

 _A bare lightbulb swung from the ceiling. A chair and chains. Sammy semi-conscious and alabaster-pale. Underneath his chair a drain. Above his bruised and bleeding body a hose that led to the cold water supply. So much rage and a thirst for revenge. Dean wanted to kill the Brit, rip her lungs out, but mom was there and he stalled, scared to show who he really was. He wanted to gather Sam in his arms, hold him close and kiss him but mom was there and he held back, scared that she would be disgusted._  

Dean regretted it all now. Sam deserved better and Mary hadn’t earned the consideration he showed her.

Rock underfoot, twenty paces by ten, a foot taller than his head, slippery-cold bars that his fingers would curl all the way around, the smell of fish, and if he listened real hard, the faint slap of water on a hard surface. Dean knew every detail of his cage, including the fact that there was no way out, yet his bucket somehow materialized on the other side of the bars when it needed emptying.  In the long hours or days that he had been a prisoner Dean’s only relief was enjoying Grammond’s grumbles and moans.

“You could let me go,” Dean smirked each time and the gnome always hurried away like his prisoner was poison.

It was Alastair who came first to break him. The memories were as sharp as a knife and they flayed his mind and burned bright blood images into the darkness. “Sam didn’t get you out,” Alastair reminded him. “He wasn’t clever enough.”

“He outwitted you,” reminded Dean, out loud.

“Then he didn’t care enough. He had Ruby instead.”

“That bitch. We killed her,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Somewhere beyond the cage a swarm of dragonflies clattered their wings and murmured their disapproval

The faintest blue light rippled through the black. He focused on it. “You’re not real,” he reminded himself. He had to pull himself together, or he was going to lose his mind. He had come so close to it in the cell in the forest, knew that Sam must have done too, close enough to offer his life for one last chance together. There was a reason for that, and here he had to remind himself of it. Sam was brilliant. He was a great hunter, he had saved the world (saved Dean) when Dean had all but given up in a bottle of whiskey. Sam was beautiful.

Amara kissed Dean. She tasted of death and ash but she still drew him to her. It made him shudder. She told him that she was the only one he needed, he could let Sam go - let the entire world go to be with her. He shook his head, reminded her that the real Amara had spared the world. It was only her brother she had needed - like he needed Sam. As she faded into faint blue light he yelled after her, “You were wrong by the way. You confused want with need. I wanted Mom, we need John,” but she was gone. She was never real anyhow.

He kicked his feet against the rock, sang several enthusiastic renditions of Bohemian Rhapsody and thought he might be crazy for wanting another dream or illusion to visit. They may not be real but they passed time. He reminded himself to be careful what he wished for. He needed a distraction, it may as well be a good memory, “Hey Grammond! Wanna talk?”

There was no answer.

“You know there are things that Sam can do with his hands you wouldn’t believe. You listening?”

“I knew that night in the Pierpont Hotel, ugh the beds were crappy there, almost as bad as this cage. He tried to kiss me and I didn’t do it. I wanted to, god I did, but he was despairing and drunk. He got into that stupid ass bed with me in the middle of the night, and I don’t know how it didn’t collapse. His hands were everywhere and let me tell you, he was skilled even then. He gave me a hand job and the pressure, the pace was perfect, his hands are so large, he can cup my balls, touch them just-so while his fingers caress my cock. I came so hard and he dipped a finger in it, licked it off, smiled, a stupid sunshine grin, and kissed me again then fell asleep. He was goddamn heavy to put back in his own bed, but I knew then I wouldn’t resist, couldn’t resist what we have. All we had was each other y’know and it was enough. Brothers with benefits...” He paused, breathing hard. He had his jeans unzipped, boxers aside and was stripping his cock at a hard and fast pace to the memory of Sam’s touch, the feel of his skin next to his, lips pressing hard against his, begging access, begging for so much more. He came with little noise or fuss, a practical wank to distract himself from the boredom, if it freaked the stupid gnome out, all the better. He wiped himself with a rag in the back pocket of his jeans, listened for a reaction but there was only the chime of the swarm,

“Pervert, pervert, pervert.”

Dean grinned, Yeah, maybe it was perverted but his brother didn’t mind. They were thieves and killers too. So what?  If Sam was here he would have loved to watch and join in. They had always lived their lives outside society’s norms.  He spoke up again, “Sex and masturbation eases stress and aids sleep. If I had something soft in here maybe I wouldn’t need to do it.”

The swarm hissed, “Wrong.”

Ha! He wasn’t entirely alone. Dean’s new amusement was to needle the swarm into chastising him. It passed the time and pulled him from the horror of his mind reliving a roll call of carnage and deaths he had been unable to prevent.

When Grammond next came to empty his bucket and bring food, he dragged a thin mattress with him, shoved it through the bars of the cage. Dean could just make out the gnome’s intense glare in the gloom.

The mattress was surprisingly comfortable if he could ignore Sam-not-Sam who sat on the end of the mattress, creepy and sleepless without his soul and asked pointless questions about why pie was important and how it felt to have his mother back. Dean kicked him off the mattress and he faded to black in the shadows.  

How much time had passed? Dean couldn’t tell. It felt like ten days, maybe more. His stomach cramped and grumbled but he hadn’t eaten the elvis burger, the roast dinner or the fried chicken Grammond had brought. It was all an illusion and he would live. He wouldn’t survive though, not whole without Sam. He knew that. The months with Lisa, the time apart in a cell had taught him it. It was okay though, Sam was okay, he was strong, he had mom now, he would go on without him.

Water slapped, like the edge of a lake in Summer, Dean thought he could sleep again but the swarm had other ideas, “Flagstaff, Stanford, Purgatory,” they chimed.

The memories burned. How did they know? Had he told them as he rambled alone in his boredom or did they know some other supernatural way? The thought of it made him shudder. There were dark memories shoved in every dark corner of his mind, they belonged there, hidden and unacknowledged. Dean was too needy, he knew that. He needed to know that Sam was alive, that he was healthy and happy. He needed a touch, the smell of his hair, the reassurance of his presence.

He had to stay positive. A new thought came out of his gloom and Dean suddenly grinned. Maybe he needed Sam as only a soulmate could. Maybe that was what had burned and angered him in the past. The King of the Faeries could take a ticket and wait forever.

“Flagstaff was a long time ago. Kids grow up, even adults grow and learn,” he said, “Stanford was school. Demons and angels manipulated us. And Purgatory, yeah I was pissed for a while but I wasn’t looking at it straight. Sam had no clues to find me. Amelia was nothing. They were flotsam and jetsam. I can be grateful to her now but I’m not going to admit it to Sammy.  We chose each other in that cabin and in that church. Maybe it took a little while to work through it all but let me tell you a thing about make-up sex…”

The swarm buzzed angrily and Dean thought he heard a drawn out sigh from Grammond. He took his time and recounted every sordid detail. It made him tired.

Castiel flung him against an alley wall, beat him until bones broke and blood flowed. Angel-cold eyes bored into him “Sam isn’t coming,” the angel sneered and Dean knew that Castiel had messed up again; yet another betrayal, did he owe so much for his rescue from perdition?

He was relieved when Grammond arrived with a pitcher of water, muttering angrily under his breath.

“Can’t stay away can you? I’m just too pretty.” 

“Shut up!” Grammond snapped at him.

This was new. The gnome was definitely flustered. “What’s wrong, your girlfriend left you?” Now he thought about it he did seem to have been in this goddawful cave for a very long time, and Lana had not returned.

With a flash of anger in his eyes Grammond slammed the water jug down hard enough to spill it on Dean. Dean sat up, leaned forward, almost predatory, “Oh-ho, she has. Lana has stood you up! She’s left you in the dark, in this stinking cave with me. Do you think she’s with Oberon right now? Dancing and eating sweet things, letting you do the hard work for her gain?”

“Don’t speak his name! He is the King and you are nothing. Your brother will not come. You will be used up and thrown out to grovel and wait on the higher faeries. Just you see!” Grammond shouted at him and hurried away without changing Dean’s bucket and Dean didn’t care because Grammond was rattled and that had to mean something. It had to mean that Sam was coming for him.

He was alone again with the blue swirl in the dark, listening to the slap-slap of water. His dream was still vivid and he let his thoughts wander. Had Cas brought Sam back soulless on purpose? It made sense. People called Dean a killer but Dean knew that Sam was a stone cold killer too. Without his soul he had been a perfect killing machine for Crowley and Cas’s monster mission and angels had no real conscience. When Cas had a purpose he was pretty damn single-minded about getting it done and even the Winchesters couldn’t side track him. Of course he was missing again and who knows what that was about or if Sam could contact him to help find Dean. Could Castiel swim? He definitely sank when he was full of leviathans, well, more exploded really. Dean acted out an explosion complete with the noise, then yelled cheerfully “She’s ditched you Grammond.” There was no point in acting like he had any sanity left in this stupid dark cage without his brother.

He waited expectantly but time passed and he dozed. More time and still Sam didn’t come. Maybe Sam was dead, maybe he was injured, maybe he had moved on without him.

Somewhere in the dark Grammond chuckled and sing-songed cruelly, “Sam’s afraid of water. Scaredy-cat isn’t coming. Pathetic! Got yourself tricked by a morgen. Why would he come for you?”

Dean chucked the content of his bucket through the bars of his cage. “Asshole!” he yelled, then, as an afterthought, “Lana hasn’t come back for you!”

“You’ll suffer for that!” growled Grammond.

“What? You gonna shut me in a cage and offer me up for rape by your King? Idiot!”

A green shoot wrapped itself around the corner of his cage, grew rapidly, it’s malice almost tangible, blocking Dean’s last traces of faint blue light, muffling all sound. Even the noise of the swarm faded to nothing. The inky blackness that surrounded him was dense and oppressive and the silence hurt his ears.

Time passed again. Sam didn’t come. He hadn’t realized how grateful he had been for the distant slap of water and the anger of the swarm until now. He wondered if the vine could be used to escape, at the worst to kill himself before Oberon could have his way but it shrank and tangled, avoided every attempt to capture and use it. It was fine, he tried to tell himself. He could stay  positive. Sam would come. He had come to save Dean, back from the dead with a bloody gunshot wound. He’d come to save Dean against booby traps and grenades, he’d saved him from his own daughter when he knew that Dean would not save himself.

Sam wouldn’t make it this time. The lake, the waterfall, it would be too much for him. Dean couldn’t expect it of him.

_Stop it! Goddamn it. Oberon won’t get his bitch. Sam. Will. Come._

He paced, counted in decimal, in binary, in Latin and in French. He paced until his feet were sore on the jagged rock. When Sam had come back from Hell he hadn’t feared anything because he was soulless. After his soul was returned it seemed that most anything could trigger him - a noise, the smell of raw meat, a flash of light but Dean didn’t remember water being on that list. There had been sleepless nights when Sam had welcomed a hot shower, found relief in running water and slathering on fancy gels, stayed too long like it was the only thing that could keep Hell’s fires from him.

When had it changed?

Brushing water off his shoulders in the rain, flinching when Dean turned the kitchen tap on, that was all before their incarceration by the army. But after was worse, Sam had asked him almost every night, to shower with him. Dean had delighted Sam’s new found enthusiasm for shower sex but he should have realized it was more than that, should have have insisted that he talk, should have helped. It was his own fault that he rotted in this cave. Shower sex was easy with Sam but it didn’t solve anything. God! He was so selfish! Sam had needed him and he had fucked him and ignored the problem.

Yellow eyes shone through the gloom, a familiar face spoke “ You know, you fight and you fight for this family. But the truth is, they don't need you. ”

“Fuck you!” Dean stuck his middle finger up at the apparition and it disappeared.

“Don’t hate.” Garth scolded.

“Ha!, it’s kinda good to see you at least.”

Garth started to flicker around the edges and fade, “He’ll come and then there’ll be hugs and sex. You know, even when I’m drunk I can hear you two.I mean, no judgement, right but a hunter needs his sleep y’know.”

 _Think!_ Dean thought, giving it Sam’s sternest voice and he blinked back a tear because he might never hear Sam’s real voice again. If he could work out how to put everything right then the faeries would know that his bond with Sam was real. Oberon would have to get knotted.

“I’m fine Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, suddenly by his side. “What the hell do you think you were doing going on a hunt without me?” Sam shook his head in despair and the swirl of blue made a halo around his head.  

Dean’s heart leapt, he breathed out and grinned at him, “You took your time. I was about to become Oberon’s favorite plaything. The King can’t resist my charms.” He winked at his brother, full of fake bravado. “How did you get here?” 

“Ssh, save it. We haven’t much time, the gnome will be back soon. Here, take this.” Sam held a heavy iron key out to him. A diver's watch glinted on his wrist.

Dean reached for the key in his brother’s hand, needed to feel him but Sam’s hand was as cold as the key and Dean shrank back from him to look again. Sam's head tilted at a grotesque angle, a gash appeared and grew until his head hung by a vein, while his lips still smiled. Black goo poured out filling the cage, drowning Dean in it, until there was nothing but black.

Dean sank to the mattress. It was hopeless.

“What? You just gonna give up? You think you’re the only problem on the planet that Sam has to deal with right now? Boohoo, Princess. Maybe you’re gonna have to work for it. Sometimes you have to swallow your pride boy,” Bobby scolded, then sniffed. “What is that smell? Smells kinda damp, you should fix that.” Bobby started to fade.

“No, don’t go! What am I supposed to do?” Dean shouted and banged on the bars of the cage. He sniffed. It did smell real bad. How long had it been since Grammond had last come to him. A day, two days?

Hey, Grammond! Hey!”  He shouted until his voice was hoarse.

“Okay, I’m sorry Grammond. Do you hear me? I’m sorry. Please take this goddamn vine away and change the bucket.”

There was only silence.

“Asshole!” said Dean and slammed the bar of his cage again. It made a dull thud and a shower of dust made him cough and blink. Huh. He pulled at the vine and it unraveled in his fingers, wilted and curled.

“Dean!”

Of course it would be Sam’s voice he heard.

“You’re not real,” he growled.

“C’mon, just a bit more.”

_Yeah, right._

He kicked the cage in anger. Bars splintered and disintegrated around him and then he was struggling, drowning in deep, cold blue water. Sounds traveled slow and muffled around him and bubbles of air tickled his skin. A hand took his, gripped it and pulled him up, up, toward the surface where sunlight filtered through.

Brown hair flowed in the current, strong muscles pulled him to the surface and Sam’s face looked back at him, urging him on. He broke surface gasping for air, coughing with exertion and coughing up water while a waterfall pitter-pattered. The apparition shook the hair out of his eyes and spoke, “Dean, God! Are you alright? What did she do to you?”

“Huh!” He watched droplets gather and run in rivulets down Sam’s neck, sparkling in sunlight. This Sam was pretty. He’d like to stay in this hallucination a while.

Sam tilted his head to look at him, “Well c’mon. We have to go,” he nagged.

They struck out for the shore together, matching strokes. “Sam? How? You’re all wet.”

“I _can_ swim,” Sam looked exasperated, “Don’t try to speak.”

Sam helped him onto the shore, ignoring his brother’s protests that he could do it on his own. They stared up at a pale morning sky where fluffy clouds dawdled and a flock of crows wheeled and cawed.

“You’re not real,” Dean insisted, “But you can stay a while.”

Sam rolled over where he lay next to him and punched him. It hurt enough to be real.

“Ow! Ah! Maybe you’re real.”

“We don’t have time for this, Dean.” Sam raised his hand ready to slap him, waited for a response. He wasn't wearing a watch.

"You don't have a diver's watch," Dean mused.

"Why would I?" asked Sam.

"Because...oh, nevermind."

Sam leaned over and slapped him, "Real enough yet, jerk?"

It was what Sam would do. Dean put his hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay. You’re real.” He tested his jaw with his hand. His fingers touched rough stubble. It felt real, _oh thank god,_ he’d done zits and puberty twice already and that was quite enough.

They got up at the same time, staggered toward the Impala, arms around each other’s shoulders, each supporting the other as they had done a thousand times before.

“What the hell were you thinking Dean? I could have lost you.”

“Wait! You came after me, in the water?”

“Well, yeah. How else was I going to get you out of there after you went after a morgen on your own?”

“But you can’t, I mean, in that cave I had some time to understand about the water and I know what the Brits did to you. I remember the shower they had rigged up. That sort of torture...I can’t even... I worked it out and I understand. I’d understand if you didn’t rescue me. The water y’know. I was selfish. I’m sorry.”

“What is wrong with you? Is it some sort of faerie whammy?” Sam looked concerned, cupped his face to look into his eyes and Dean swiped his hand away.

He tried to explain, “Water triggers something in you. It takes you back there. You took so long, I didn’t think you could.”

Sam’s bitch-face was unmistakeable. “Two days, Dean. You were gone two days, and I’m pretty sure I’m scared of Hell but I went back there. I told you I was dealing with it and I’m not going to let an overgrown faerie puddle keep me from you.”

“Oh.”

They reached Baby and Dean stroked her gently, “She’s okay,” he said with wonder.

“Two days, Dean,” sighed Sam, “Are you sure you’re okay? I should drive.”

“Oh no! No way.” 

Sam threw the keys to him and he caught them. They were a familiar weight of time-smoothed metal in his hand.

“We should…”

Sam patted the towels that covered the seats, “Already thought of it. Just get in, we still have work to do.”

“The bitch is dead right?”

“Yeah, she is but I have a gnome waiting at the motel. He came looking for the morgen. He doesn’t like you.”

“Why is that bell-wearing bastard alive?”

“Because we need to prove that you are not Oberon’s, once and for all. To do that we need a witness to send back to faeryland. Give it some throttle he’s counting three kilos of sugar.”

Dean grinned at him and patted the dash, “Oh yeah, I can do that.”

The engine growled and he was surrounded by the smell of his Baby, gun oil and vinyl and something uniquely Sam that lingered even beneath the river-damp odor they brought with them. Illusion!Sam had never smelt of anything.

They traveled in wet, companionable silence for a few minutes. Dean couldn’t help looking around at Sam, sneaking glances at him as he brushed his hair behind his ear. He reached over and pushed a stray wet strand from back from his brother’s face. He needed to feel the warmth of his skin. “You’re real,” he said again with a grin.

“Look at the road, Dean.” Sam swatted Dean’s hand away before continuing in a concerned tone, “Have I been _not real?”_

“Well, once or twice. You weren’t the only one but but you were still a pain in my ass and not in the good way. It’s not important,” Dean pretended to concentrate extra hard on the road ahead.

“We should talk about it,” Sam was suddenly soft with him.

“You know that’s the pot calling the kettle black, right?” said Dean. “You should tell me what happened here.” He didn’t want to think about his time in the cave. “Where’s Cas? Mom?”

“Cas is still missing. Mom texted, she told me she could be here in a few days if we still needed her. You pissed?”

Dean watched the road ahead, stroked the old vinyl of the seat and smiled at his brother again, “Nah, we’ve got each other, my baby and a hunt. I think we’re good.”

“So, anyway, when I found your notes I looked up some of the lore and dug up a few old rhymes that were specific to the village and it’s waterfall. The morgen had been hunting here for decades. I found the car near the waterfall with no sign of you and figured the best way to find you was to find the faerie. One gold ring and a little incantation was enough for that.”

“Ooh, so smart,” Dean muttered sarcastically under his breath.

“What?” asked Sam with narrowed eyes.

“What?” Dean teased his little brother. It felt right. It felt good.

“Well, fast forward a few hours, a little prompting with sugar and iron made her very informative, so I had a spell and according to the local rhymes the ghost of her victim can sometimes be seen in the depths of the pool ‘as the morning cries’. I collected the ingredients and waited through the night. Just before dawn there was a puff of some sort of smoke and an angry gnome materialized in our room but it’s faerie GPS must have been set to the morgen so it was very, very angry about finding a puddle of morgen goo. He tried to whammy me with faerie magic but couldn’t because he had materialized right in the middle of the pile of sugar I’d used on the morgen. Then he cried for ages about Oberon and his lovely Lana, I mean really sobbed.” He stopped to chuckle. “You had to be there,” he added when Dean didn’t chuckle with him.

Dean put his hand on Sam’s leg, pretended to brush water from it. He could feel the familiar firm muscle through wet denim. It was real.

Sam continued, “I waited until dew gathered at dawn and the spell seemed to work so I dived in. You were suspended in some sort of air-sac at the bottom of the pool. Waking you was the hardest part. You were snoring - underwater.”

“How did you wake me?”

Sam glanced at him briefly, and a slight smile danced on his lips, “I kissed you,” he said, matter-of -factly before turning away to look out of the window “Then you called me an asshole and kicked me.” He waited for Dean to apologize and when he didn’t continued with a petty, “You’re welcome by the way.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “You kissed me, you’re so romantic”  “Whatever! You’re still the princess.” 

The Impala doors closed with a satisfactory clunk and Dean looked up at the door of the motel room he had left weeks (no days) earlier. It looked oddly normal from the outside considering it supposedly had an angry gnome and morgen _bleuch_ inside.

Sam peered in the window. “He’s still counting,” he announced.

Dean peered in after him, flinched at Grammond’s venomous glare and stepped back. He didn’t miss a beat in catching the shotgun that Sam had loaded with iron rounds for him and the packet of diner sugar that followed close behind. Dean covered one side of the door while Sam unlocked it. He raised his hand - _stop_ \- before the door could be opened.

“Sammy, explain again why Grammond is alive in our hotel room?”

Sam deflected the question, “Oh! So you’re on first name terms?”

“Sammy!” he growled.

Sam sighed, “Well, once the gnome started talking about you he didn’t shut up. He hates you and I don’t think he really wanted to keep you. I think he has Oberon issues. He explained about the whole ‘serving Oberon’ thing and about bonds that prevent it. There’s a whole set of rules and exceptions and did you know that…,”

Dean glared at Sam and wound his hand in a circular motion, in a silent ‘ _get to the point’_.

Sam blushed and scratched his ear, “We have to have sex,” he said, the words tumbling over each other, “To prove that what we have is more than just brothers. I mean, he said he believed me anyway, that we don’t have to, that he had far too many details already thank-you,” Sam raised his eyebrows in question and Dean shrugged innocently, “But from the lore and from everything he and the morgen said I think he’s lying. I think he has to y’know… _see_ that you’re mine before he returns to tell Oberon’s aides.”

“No!”

“Dean!”

“Uh no. Have you considered that maybe he wants one last chance to get his rocks off before he dies. Or maybe he has some curse that only works when brothers have sex...or...NO!”

“Ssh!” Sam hushed him. He had his exasperated look which Dean hated because it meant he was going to win the argument.

Dean allowed himself to be shooed inside. The room seemed safe, they put their weapons down and sat on the bed.

Sam stripped off his plaid and then his tee. His nipples were erect and his muscles tightened and flexed with his movement.

Dean swallowed hard, he could hardly look away. It had been _weeks_ (days) since he’d tasted that skin. Whatever. It had been too long.

Sam looked over at him, nodded encouragement, “You’re wet, you need to get your clothes off, let me check you over.”

“Oh, _check him over_. That’s what the kids are calling it these days. Don’t mind me. I don’t need to see. I can pop on back and tell the King he’s taken.” Grammond bitched at them from the corner of the room inside a circle of sugar. Next to him was a particularly unpleasant smelling gelatinous puddle. Yeah, thought Dean, they wouldn’t be getting their deposit back on this room.

“Shut up!” They said in unison.

“I’m for turning him into jello right now,” Dean said, stripping off his top to reveal pale freckled skin dimpled with cold.

“Hey!” protested Grammond, then wheedled, “ I can save you from Oberon forever. You won’t be one of us any more. Your brother knows it.”

“Keep counting!” demanded Sam, “And don’t stop until I send you back to whatever hole you came from.

Grammond returned to his task muttering under his breath with dark expression.

“You’re cold. C’mere.” Sam opened his arms and invited him in and Dean knew he fit perfectly in that embrace. It was like gravity, useless to resist that force. He moved in, rested his head on Sam’s shoulder and let his brother massage his back and arms, gave a sighing shiver as Sam kissed the top of his head. “We can do this. I can’t risk losing you again.”

“No, we can’t do this,” insisted Dean but his protest was softer.

Sam unbuckled Dean’s belt, slipped a huge hand down the back of Dean’s jeans to cup his ass. Dean didn’t stop him. “You’re mine. You belong with me. I can’t share you with Oberon. I can’t keep thinking that they will take you back. I can’t Dean. We’ll never see him again.  And it’s not like we haven’t done it before,” Sam pleaded.

“Those times were different. They were sexy,” hissed Dean, but he could never resist those puppy dog eyes.

“Huh? The pool hall in Springfield? Those guys were not sexy. The old lady in the laundrette - so not sexy, Dean.” He nibbled Dean’s ear, licked a stripe up his neck and Dean shivered again, but this time he wasn’t cold.

Sam shimmied his jeans and boxers off and god, he was a sight for sore eyes. “C’mon you know it’s the first thing you’d have done if he wasn’t here. You’d have had me up against the wall the moment we were through the door, fucked me so hard I’d be seeing stars. Who cares about him? I missed you, I need you. That’s sexy.” He hugged Dean into him, hard and needy and did that thing he did with his teeth, a love bite so gentle it barely bruised, the scrape of his teeth and balm of his tongue.

Dean gave a happy moan, “You’re unfair,” he complained as his hips rutted up so his brother’s already half-hard dick rubbed up against his belly, tracing a thrill to his own. “ Maybe I’m sleepy, and need somebody to wake me.”

Sam took his cue and leaned down to kiss him, lips hot and demanding on Dean’s lips, his tongue soft and wet and full of promise. Dean’s jeans crumpled to the floor, his boxers followed them down and Dean tumbled onto the bed with a creak and bounce, Sam pounced after him, legs astride of him, his body bent over him so his hair swished and tickled Dean’s skin as he pressed their lips together again and deepened the kiss.

“Oh, ew!” Grammond whined.

Dean felt Sam’s grin through the kiss and he couldn’t help his own smile, “You’re such an exhibitionist,” he mumbled into Sam’s mouth. He didn’t object when that mouth kissed a trail wetly over his jaw, and on down to his nipple, to lick and tease it until the nub of it stood as erect and hard as his cock now was.

“Sammy,” he sighed the name like a supplication.

“I’ve got ya. I’m here,” Sam paused, then, “You’re here,” like he was reassuring himself.

“I knew you’d come for me.”

“Never doubt it, Sam whispered in his ear while his deft fingers spread silky-cold lube over the tip of Dean’s dick and right down to his balls with perfect pressure and speed. He arched up to meet the touch.

It didn’t matter how many times they did this, if it was quick and dirty sex or long relaxed love making, it never failed to excite him, always seemed new to him. Dean knew he wouldn’t last long this time, he was too needy and Sam would roll with it, play him like an angel played a harp because he knew him better than anyone else. _Sam_ _could read his goddamn mind_.

Two fingers stretched the tight pucker of his brother’s hole, relishing the warmth and pulse of it, no need for more before Sam fucked down on his cock, welcomed him deep into his body, inviting Dean to forget. There was no darkness here, _do it Sam_ , no longing, _oh there, oh my god there_ , he was free, _like that_ , he was complete _, yesss, fuck yess,_ he was home _._

They came together, Dean gripped Sam to him, marking him with fingerprints on his ass and his come deep inside. Sam painted Dean’s stomach with his seed, left the fingers that had gripped him sticky with semen. They flopped side by side on the bed, panting and sated, barely took a break before they were kissing again, lazy and undemanding.

“Seriously? I think I’m going to puke,” Grammond complained, “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

Dean startled, he had almost forgotten that the gnome was there.

Sam reached for the bowl of herbs and bones on the nightstand while effortlessly reciting a Celtic spell. He struck a match to complete it and Dean watched the flare of flame reflect in Sam’s beautiful multi-hued eyes. There was a fizz and a pop, a deluge of water consumed the gnome and then Grammond was gone, leaving a flood of brackish water on the floor.

“Damn. There goes our deposit,” chuckled Sam.

“We should probably make good use of this bed then,” commented Dean and dived in for another kiss.This time they let it last, hungry to explore every inch of each other’s bodies.

After, Dean allowed himself a question, “Before the hunt, I was there, I saw how water affected you. It wasn’t something you could control. How did you overcome that?”

Sam propped himself on one elbow, he frowned as he thought for an answer. “I had to find you. Besides, I think I was already over it. It wasn’t about the cold shower the Brits gave me, not really. There were worse things; they got into my head - literally a mind fuck, and I felt violated. All that time alone in an army cell, I guess it got mixed up in my head, every drop of water felt like an attack, put me back in that place with no control, no agency. When you came to me in the shower, I felt you, it was real, _you were real_ and everything else…” he shrugged, “...everything else was _just_ _a mind fuck_. Every shower with you felt less like an attack. Memories couldn’t touch me, not like you,” he laughed then, lightened the mood, “You touch me in ALL the right ways.”

Dean waggled his eyebrows and pretended to puff up with pride, “Don’t you forget it, Sammy.”

Sam stared at him fondly, “But you never really doubted me Dean. The gnome said that if you really doubted me, even for a moment, you were already lost. He said it would feel like weeks to you, months even, and that no bond could survive. I’ve let you down so many times. Why this time? How could you be so sure that I would find you?”

The question caught him off guard. _Had he been so sure?_ There were moments that he had wavered. His fingers found Sam’s face, tilted it to him, “You _never_ let me down. Crap happened and we blamed each other. I was insecure and there was guilt for this thing that we do, _that I do with my little brother,_ ” he indicated the sex-rumpled bed, “But y’know what? You saved the world, and you, me and Baby we’re good together, we hunt things, we save people and I think we’re okay with that. I met God and his sister and they know everything that we are and they aren’t disgusted. They have faith in us, Sam and Dean Winchester together. I think if God can have faith in us then we kind of have to as well.”

Sam took his hand, squeezed it gently, “Yeah, we do.”

Dean scratched his head with his other hand, and sucked in a noisy breath, “Awkward moment over?” he asked.

“Yeah, definitely.” Sam wholeheartedly agreed.

“The diner on Main Street makes an awesome burger. We should eat.”

Sam stretched and yawned, “We should,” he agreed, “But let’s take a shower first.”

*End*


End file.
